


baby, if you wanted me then you should have just said

by jacktheminatureslayer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Everyone really likes Zayn's bed, Fake Relationship, Good Lord, Homophobia, I'm sorry Mum, Louis is somewhat antisocial, M/M, Niall is a larry shipper, So yeah, Which isn't saying much, because he is lazy, because we all need to write one at one point or another, but due to ignorance, but that's basically canon, fake and real smut, harry is weird, maybe I shouldn't post this, of sorts, there is an outing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:19:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacktheminatureslayer/pseuds/jacktheminatureslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be fair, Louis knew this was a horrible idea. Idiotic, stressful, bound to fail...the list goes on, but here they are going over each clause of the contract. At least Harry was nice enough to bring snacks.</p>
<p>"Sign here," Harry concludes and points at the bottom of the last page. Louis doesn't think, just signs under Harry's pointer finger. "Okay, I guess it's official! I've got to go call my mum. I'll call you later...boyfriend."</p>
<p>Oh God.</p>
<p>Or, an AU where Harry is stalkerish; Liam is supportive; Zayn is confused; Niall is Niall; and Louis agrees to start a fake relationship with the pretty library lad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is, but "this is the start of something new."
> 
> Title from Sheeran's "Don't"
> 
> This is a short prologue, but the rest of the chapters are longer. I don't know why this is so short. Maybe I'm just a tease. Yes, we'll go with that.

Louis outed himself, really. Well, if snogging a random bloke in the middle of the football stadium after scoring the winning goal “outs” someone, then, yes, Louis outed himself to the crowd of football fans. Which happened to be most of Manchester and other parts of England. Not that Louis cares or anything. He only vomited what was left in his stomach (surprisingly not much in consequence to his pre-game nerves) in the loo after realisation hit. So yes, Louis is a strong, independent queer that doesn’t need approval from anyone else about how he lives his life. He’s twenty-one for fucks sake. He gets groceries and does his own laundry and everything (mostly true)! An adult through and through.

“You’re a mess,” Zayn says before patting his arm in a patronising fashion.

“It was on the tellie,” is Louis's response. So sue him, he’s not quite over the events of last night. The nausea in his stomach agrees.

“It was probably in the school paper too. Maybe even the local pages.” Zayn shrugs. Why did Louis have to play footie for his uni team? Actually, scratch that question, the answer is obvious (he is incredibly talented, thank you very much). Why did Louis have to snog the goalie of the other team? He wasn’t even fit.

Liam comes in with a cuppa (god bless Liam Payne) and coos at Louis's hidden body under the covers. “Our little Louis still sulking about last night?”

Louis groans and Zayn pokes him. Hard. “What’s wrong, Tommo? Not a good kisser?” he jokes.

His flatmates are the worst.

“Drink your tea before it gets cold. I’ve got some icecream in the freezer,” Liam states and Louis hears him shuffle out of the room. Okay, maybe they aren’t the worst.

“Niall’s coming over later with your lecture notes,” Zayn adds before cuddling into Louis's side and resting his nose in Louis's hair. Okay, so maybe he has the best flatmates in the world.

The thing is is that Louis was never particularly closed off about his sexuality, it’s just that he only told the important people in his life. In his mind he didn’t think it really mattered that his few acquaintances from his history course or the neighbours in the flat across the street knew he prefered blokes over girls. He wasn’t hiding it nor was he flaunting it he was just...living his own life. He is who he is.

Now its out there. Which is great, keeps him from having to have those awkward conversations when the question of sexuality does come up (like when Peter from his maths course tried to set him up with his “good friend” and Louis had to patiently explain why he wasn’t interested). ‘See?’ Louis tells himself, ‘there’s a brightside to everything.’

Only the “brightside” of it all started to seem more and more dull as the week progressed and he couldn’t pathetically cuddle into his bed anymore. He had to get up and face the consequences and they weren’t bad, but they weren’t particularly good.

As he walked across campus to his lectures and eventually to the field for footie practice, Louis got a mix of “pity” glances and wolf calls. He wasn’t sure which one was worse. Actually maybe the worst part of this whole thing happened when he walked into the locker room and his fellow teammates started to shy away. It’s mostly frustrating because he’s known that his attraction for his own gender since he was fifteen and David Beckham did a near nude photoshoot for his favourite magazine.

Niall shoots him a sympathetic look after George shields himself behind someone else. It’s probably that action that really tipped Louis over the edge because he found himself snapping across the room, “Jesus Christ, Hummins. It’s just a dick! I’ve seen them before. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have one.”

A few people look over at the outburst and then lower their gazes. “It’s just weird,” someone pipes up from the toilets.

“Sorry Lou,” Fred adds.

Thomas clears his throat and winces when he says, “Yeah I think most of us thought you were straight--”

“You never said otherwise,” George snaps, but immediately flinches at the looks he gets.

“And now I’m rethinking everything I’ve ever known, because you’re pretty much the straightest bloke ever,” Thomas finishes.

Niall frowns at him, but Louis's the one that speaks up. “Me being homosexual doesn’t change my fucking personality.”

The team shuffles about unsurely and Coach Higgins interrupts them before Louis could go into his “stereotypes” lecture he memorised back during sixth form. “What’s the hold up? Get out on the field!” he booms at them. Those dressed trip over themselves in their haste and the rest nearly rip their uniforms to match pace.

The only special attention Louis gets after the scene in the locker room is when Higgins pats his shoulder on their way back to the changing rooms after a particularly harsh practice session of lunges and laps. Most of the team is too tired to bugger about and they drop the issue in preference of leaving for their residences. George stammers an apology before he leaves and Niall clucks his tongue in annoyance. “Don’t know why he was so worried. Not even your type,” he grumbles while slipping on his snapback.

Louis shrugs and doesn’t comment. Even if George was his type, which he thankfully isn’t, Louis has conversed with the lad. He’s a dull one. “I’m just glad no one’s tried to chat me up,” he jokes and nudges Niall with his elbow on their way out of the room.

“Give it time,” Niall responds easily and dodges Louis's responding punch.

They chat over different footie strategies, Louis laughing when Niall mimics commentary from previous matches (perfect announcer dialect), on their way to Louis's flat where his flatmates are waiting with dinner. He still gets a few dirty glances thrown his way, but they’re bearable with Niall by his side. Support is actually a bigger thing than he had originally thought. Which is a startling revelation that almost causes him to not notice when Niall guides him into the library.

“Erm Niall, what are we doing?” he asks a second too late. They’ve already crossed the threshold and Niall is pulling him to the front desk.

His blonde friend doesn’t even care to answer his eloquent question. Just turns to the older woman behind the desk. Louis feels stupid just standing around awkwardly waiting. He throws a cursory look around the surprisingly crowded room. The first thing he notices is, well, books. Not just regular books, but those big ones that could cause serious bodily injuries just by staring at them too long.

The next thing he notices are the miserable faces of students slumped over desks. Some even crying over their laptops. An involuntary shiver goes up and down his spine when he observes a  red-haired girl ripping out the pages of her notebook while mumbling to herself. He has half a mind to turn and leave this obvious torture site, but Niall grabs his arm before he could place his plans into action.

“Come on, Tommo. I’ve got to grab a manual from the second floor,” he says and pulls Louis to a marble staircase. “You look ill, mate.”

Ugh. He’s reminded of his night spent cuddling into his toilet. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s some kind of satanic ritual going on here. I’ve never seen so much pain on a single person’s face.”

Niall has the nerve to laugh, but stops once he sees the look on Louis's face. “You’ve seriously never been in the library before? Louis,” he stops walking and pulls Louis to a stop alongside him. “You’ve been here for years and you’ve never been in the library?”

“I take good notes?”

Niall looks like he’s seen the death of a small, furry animal. “I don’t understand. I’ve seen your marks.”

Now Louis feels this overwhelming urge to defend his academic career. Which, quite frankly, is a first. “The internet has good sources if you know where to look,” he grumbles.

“Who did you have to sacrifice to get your marks? The pope?” Niall asks.

Louis frowns. “Leave Francis out of this.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those students that shags their professors.”

“No! Well, Winston wouldn’t be a horrible prospect.”

“Aliens! You must have enlisted the help of martians.”

“Now you’re just taking the piss.”

“Excuse me,” a tall, lanky bloke interrupts their bickering. “Sorry, but you’re being a bit loud.” The poor lad actually looks worried and apologetic. Like he was the one practically yelling in a library, but Louis doesn’t think too much about this piece of information because, well…

“Why are you wearing a farmer’s hat?” Louis asks, completely disregarding the fact that he’s supposed to whisper or something.

The bloke is strange. Not in a bad way, actually. Sure, he has a large straw hat covering the top part of his head, but he has his share of handsome features. Big eyes, sharp jaw line, long legs, and, well, Louis could see a fair number of little tattoos peeking out of his long plaid shirt. Which begs another question, “Why are you wearing two plaid shirts? Was one really not enough?”

Niall snaps out of whatever internal debate he was having with himself at this point, because he yanks Louis away. “I am so sorry about him. He doesn’t have a brain to mouth filter,” he shouts over his shoulder and barrels his way to a dusty section of bookcases.

“Don’t yell in the library,” Louis chastises once they’ve safely fled from the confused lad.

Niall glares. “I can’t take you anywhere,” he hisses, but doesn’t comment further for the rest of the time spent collecting the manual and exiting the building. Louis nearly forgets about the boy with insanely tight jeans and startling green eyes. Nearly.

***

To be fair, he’s not entirely sure how he ended up in the coffee shop at seven in the bleeding morning. Louis was diligent in signing for classes at normal hours of the day to avoid something like this altogether. Liam jumping up and down next to him reminds him that, yes, he had agreed to early morning workouts for some bloody reason.

“Why can’t I just make you a cuppa at home? You’re wasting your money here,” Liam says while the woman in front of them glares at them.

“Stop hopping about, you’re scaring the mortals,” Louis deadpanned. He didn’t want tea at their flat. It’s too far away. In fact, he doesn’t recall actually jogging that three miles. He must have blanked out at some point, because the sun hadn’t even come out yet.

Liam must have picked up on his mood because he comments, “Just because the sun wasn’t out doesn’t mean it wasn’t morning.”

“Five o’clock in the bleeding morning, Payne. You woke me up at five o’clock in the bloody morning. Give me this”

He seems hesitant, but gives in. “Fine, but only because you went through a traumatising event earlier this week.”

“Traumatising event,” Louis repeats.

“Zayn said--”

And okay, that’s enough of that. “Zayn? Liam, what have I told you about listening to Zayn.”

Liam frowns and taps his temple, still hopping in place. “He’s very wise. You should listen to him more often, he says some really intelligent things.”

“Malabami,” is all Louis has to say.

“Most of the time,” he corrects himself, but shrugs.

Truth is, he’s right, but Louis's too exhausted for this. They get their respective beverages and with much persuasion (many offers of foot rubs), Louis convinces Liam to let them sit and drink for a bit before returning to their jog. Liam takes this opportunity to put on his ‘we’re having a very serious conversation’ face and if Louis weren’t so exhausted, he’d run away, but he can’t feel his legs. Could he ever feel his legs? He can’t remember. He makes a mental note to look that up on the internet when they get home. If they ever get home.

“Louis,” Liam starts and, right, he’s about to start something serious. “We’ve been talking and we’re worried about how little you’ve been leaving the flat.”

“We being…?”

“Zayn, Niall, and I. The only people you know because you never put yourself out there,” he waves his hand in a sign of a metaphorical ‘there’. Louis assumes he means outerspace, because anything else wouldn’t make sense.

He places his palms down on the surface of the table carefully and matches Liam’s serious face. Liam cringes a bit at it. “Are you saying that kissing a man on the national tellie is not ‘out there’,” he flaps his hands in a mocking way, “enough for you guys?!”

Liam sighs his ‘you don’t understand what I’m saying’ sigh and Louis's life sucks. “Okay, beyond your passionate enthusiasm for footie, which we’re all very supportive of, by the way. Niall mentioned you never even being in the library before. I mean, with your marks?”

“When are we going to get over that, because I’m over it,” Louis grumbles.

“Do you cheat on your exams or something?” Liam continues. So, no, not over it.

“The library isn’t everything, Payne. There are books other places. Like bookstores or something.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Eh, Louis isn’t even trying anymore. “The point is--”

“Oh the point! Goodie,” he deadpans.

Liam smacks him. “The point is that you are worrying us with this antisocial behavior. When was the last time you’ve been on a proper date?” Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Liam beats him to it. “Not one of those ‘mutual blowjobs’ things in dirty pubs. That doesn’t count. At all. It will never, ever count.”

Well that stumps him. Louis is caught between wanting to fight him on a ‘let me live my life’ reasoning or just distracting him from this treacherous subject altogether. Well, he is really tired and Liam’s ‘you’re worrying us’ face is sickeningly miserable. “Oh, this reminds me. I think I saw your number marked on the stall walls of the loo here,” he attempts plan B.

“What? My number...here…?” Liam questions looking around comically as though the stall doors will walk out of the men’s loo and into the commons area. Louis nods and he stands up with a stammered, “I should take it off. We aren’t finished here.” And...it shouldn’t have been that easy. Why was that so easy? Maybe Liam is letting him have this one, or he really believes that people want his number. Both are plausible.

He watches Liam leave with a feeling of guilt. Maybe he should take his (and everyone else’s apparently) worried observations into account. It’s not that he purposely “hides out” in the flat, but that happens to be where his FIFA game and laptop are so...yeah. Dating, in itself, has never seemed appealing to him. Not for any reason other than the work he has to put into it all: finding someone to date, flirting in a way to show interest but not desperation, figuring out if he likes them, figuring out if they like him, etc. He’s not opposed to the whole thing, just wary of it. He has his best mates around usually so loneliness has never been a big factor in his life. The thing is is that he never thought people would be worried about him like this and that places the tiniest bit of a “maybe I should date” thought in his mind, just so that the people he cares about and who care about him will stop the fuss. The last thing they should worry about is his love life.

“Hello,” a familiar voice says. His thoughts cut off abruptly. Louis looks up from the bottom of his cup and sees curls. Well actually he sees a bloke with curly hair pushed back with a flowery headband. He doesn’t even possess extremely curly hair, just enough that his hair surpasses the “wavy” label. God, Louis is tired.

“Hey,” Louis replies trying to place his face.

The bloke takes this as an invitation and sits in Liam’s unoccupied seat. “You’re gay,” he states once he’s settled.

It’s not one thing in particular that really triggers Louis's memory. It’s many things at once: the voice, long fingers, straight teeth, eyes. This is the library lad. If anyone else would have walked up, sat down, and said that, Louis would have gotten up and left, but Louis hesitates with this one. “Preferred to be called Louis,” he replies smoothly.

This makes the bloke laugh and, well, its a very pretty laugh. If laughs can be called pretty, of course. He lifts his head back and belts out a few chuckles, giggling snorts in afterwards. It makes Louis feel good making someone laugh is such a way.

“So here’s the deal, Lou,” he says, picking up Liam’s green tea and taking a sip of it. Louis's too shocked to stop him. “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion with your mate and I think we can help each other.”

“I don’t think I follow,” Louis replies, gaze following the bloke’s massive hands as they fix a fallen curl.

He bites his bottom lip. “This is going to sound creepy--”

“Always a nice topic starter,” Louis supplies. He smiles at the lad’s responding--albeit nervous--laughter.

“Erm, okay, I’ve done some research on you,” the bloke states, blushes, and ducks his head into his hands.

Slowly the bloke’s meaning behind his words dawns on Louis. He blinks. What. Okay. “Research…?”

He hesitates, twisting his bottom lip between his teeth before sighing and sputtering, “Your full name is Louis William Tomlinson. You’re the eldest of seven, from Doncaster, worked at a Toys R’ Us for a year, a forward on our football team, sociable but rarely seen at drinking parties, and are in the top fifteen percent of students here at Manchester. Which is a bit odd considering how you acted in the library…” his voice trails off in contemplation and he stares at the green tea in his hands.

Wow. “So, you know all this how?”

“Basically you’re perfect for what I’m proposing,” he concludes and pulls a packet out from his satchel just as Liam leaves the toilets for their table. “My number is up here,” he points to the corner of the front page where a line of numbers are listed. “Call me to let me know what you decide.” As he stands up, stealing the cup of tea and pulling his satchel over his shoulders, it hits Louis.

“Wait, what’s your name?” he calls after the boy.

He stops and turns. “Harry Styles,” he stammers and trips his way out of the shop.

Liam reaches their table and frowns. “Who were you talking to just then?”

“Harry Styles,” he repeats with a thoughtful tone of voice. He folds the packet up and leans forward to push it into his back pocket.

“And what did Harry Styles want?” Liam asks with tilt of his head. He didn’t miss Louis stuffing a bundle of papers in his trousers.

Louis shrugs. “Don’t know, let’s get back, yeah?”

“Okay.” A pause. “Where’s my tea?”

***

To say that Louis was surprised would be an understatement. To say that Louis was completely, utterly, and wholeheartedly bewildered would be more accurate. He stares down at the wrinkled packet of papers. Already having thumbed through a majority of it, he wills this all to be a figment of his imagination. He pinches himself and cringes in pain. Nope. This is very real. All too real.

He closes his eyes and sees the bolded words: ** _Boyfriend Contract_** imprinted on his eyelids. Fuck, he doesn’t know what’s more mental. The fact that the lad even gave him this in the first place or that he’s actually considering it.

A knock on his door makes him jump and shriek in terror. “Louis?” Zayn calls through the door. A split-second decision has Louis throwing himself at the packet and stuffing it under the mattress while Zayn hesitantly opens the door. “The hell are you doing sprawled out on my mattress like that?” He’s holding two cups of tea and a DVD is nestled firmly under his arm.

Louis quickly repositioned himself so that he’s sitting cross-legged and facing his flatmate. “Oh you know…” he trails off and scratches the back of his neck.

“I don’t think I do,” Zayn says and lifts his eyebrow.

“Porn,” Louis blurts.

He blinks and places the cups of tea gently on the beside table. He turns slowly to Louis with the most weary expression known to man. “You were wanking on my bed,” he states slowly and runs a flat palm down the entire length of his face.

“You have the best smelling...cushions?” God. This has taken a turn.

Zayn drops his hand and returns it to his face to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Eyes shut, he hisses. “You were wanking to my cologne?”

Fidgeting, Louis clears his throat. “When you put it that way, it sounds like--”

“What else is it supposed to bloody sound like?” Zayn snaps with a broken voice. “I..need a moment,” he adds and grabs his packet of fags and box of matches from the top of his wardrobe. Giving Louis a stern look, he turns and leaves, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

After he hears the front door slam, Louis breathes out a groan and falls back on the bed to stare at the cracked ceiling. The contract clearly states that the relationship would be completely platonic and will only seem romantic to everyone else. It’s a show. They’re putting on an act for some fucking reason. Well, “fucking” would be the wrong adjective since there will be none of that (as printed on the third page). For a good five minutes, he lets himself think about it. Really, truly think about it.

Harry isn’t ugly. In fact, he’s incredibly fit and seems like a nice enough lad (apart from his researching Louis's life, in detail). And, okay, he doesn’t actually know if Harry isn’t off his knocker, but he is pretty. Very pretty. Louis hasn’t seen someone that pretty since he met Zayn and that ship has long sailed.

And...okay, the fact that he received a third lecture about his “antisocial” behavior this afternoon (this time performed by Niall. “Louis, do you not have a severe case of blue balls, because I do just looking at you.”) really puts a damper on his, “uni is great” illusion he’s been trying to keep up for his sisters.

But no, faking a relationship with someone is not the way to go. That definitely won’t solve any of his problems. In fact, Louis is positive the whole scheme would give him ulcers or something. He hasn’t acted since he performed Grease as Danny Zuko. Which was quite a few years ago. Yes, this is a horrible idea and he plans to tell Harry as soon as possible.

The front door slamming shut reminds Louis that he needs to explain that he is not, in fact, lusting after his best mate.

***

They don’t make it obvious, but they are a pathetic bunch if they think Louis doesn’t notice. For fuck’s sake, Thomas is actually walking around in a towel covering his whole body. Not just his willy. Really, Louis thought he’d made it clear that he does not care for anyone on the team. When he’s on the field, he’s focused on the game. Why can’t they wrap their ignorant boob-obsessed minds around this point?!

He doesn’t say anything. Not even when George takes extra time pulling on his uniform because he’s trying to conceal himself underneath his towel. Nope, because if they want to act like idiots, so be it. They’re the ones that look like complete knobs.

It’s less funny when they’re actually on the field and everyone refuses to pass him the ball. “Hummins,” Paul yells out. “Tomlinson is wide open!” George pretends he can’t hear the booming voice and tries to pass to the heavily guarded Steven. “Everyone get your arses over here. NOW!” Paul belts soon after.

The whole team pants and wipes off their sweat, huddled in a semi-circle around their coach. Niall looks murderous and ready to lash out at a moment’s notice in his goalie attire.

“What the hell was that?!” Coach Higgins starts, eyes glaring at each teammember. When no one speaks up, he continues, “This is not how a bloody team plays! The A-levels could take you buggers on and probably win.”

“Hummins, I know that you saw a clear pass with Tomlinson, why didn’t you take it?” he barks at George.

He pales and shuffles about hesitantly. “It’s just that,” he sighs and fidgets more. “Louis's known to be, well...handsy when he’s on field.”

Niall snaps. “He’s not going to snog you just because you passed him the feckin’ ball!”

George matches his volume. “Well I don’t know that! He seemed to be pretty cosy last week with that goalie!”

“That was one time! He scored the winning goal!”

“I have a boyfriend,” Louis states bluntly, interrupting the heated argument. Everyone pauses and turns to stare blankly at him. “Erm, it’s recent,” he explains and rubs his left arm with his right hand. “Someone I’ve been seeing on and off again? We decided to make it official after, you know, ‘outing’ myself to the whole school….?” he trails off into a questioning tone and waits for someone to...do something.

That someone would be Niall and that something would be him hitting Louis in the shoulder. “You’ve been seeing someone and you never thought to tell anyone, ya motherfucker!” his smiling face contradicts his angry words and he slams Louis against his chest for a tight hug. “Happy for you,” he whispers into his ear.

“Erm,” Coach Higgins stammers and points his chin at the locker rooms. “Practice will get out early today. Congratulations, Tomlinson,” he adds on awkwardly.

Each member of the team pats his back and mutters their own congratulations. Even George who even apologises for acting so strangely. When Niall and him get to Louis's flat, Niall makes the announcement and Liam and Zayn look close to tears. They spend the night cuddled into a group, bonding over the “change in Louis's confidence” and force him to promise to bring the lad around soon. Surprisingly, they weren’t hurt that he kept a “secret on-and-off relationship” just happy that he’s even in one.

So, Louis finds himself pulling up the saved number on his phone in the nice and isolated alleyway next to his building. Far away from where his mates are currently sleeping on each other in Zayn’s bed. A tired and raspy voice that makes Louis's legs shake answers the call.

“Hello?” Harry says.

“Harry. When do I start?”


	2. ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Louis is nearly murdered and Harry wears a fedora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AN UPDATE!
> 
> If you squint, there's 'ziam' in this chapter.

“I’m considering telling the Headmaster that you’re a cheating bastard,” Niall tells Louis one afternoon after footie practice.

Louis takes in a nice big breath, thinks about nature and all the beautiful things in this world, and lets it out slowly. “I have good marks because I do well in class. That has nothing to do with the bloody library,” he ends up gritting out anyways because he’s frustrated. And slightly horny. But he can’t do anything about the latter because everyone has apparently given up on managing their own life in favour of watching Louis every bleeding second.

Niall takes a bite of his apple and shrugs. “There’s something dark going on in your life and I’m going to figure it out.”

Jesus. “Maybe put all this energy into your revisions and you’ll come out of this semester without failing.”

Niall punches him in the arm. Hard. “You’re a cunt, but you’re my cunt.”

Oh. Sentimental Niall. They smile at each other, but the moment ends as soon as a big, dangerously attractive bloke comes skipping over, head full of scarf, and chest full of grandfather jumper. That’s right. Louis is dating this lad. Well, fake dating.

“Loooouuuuu,” Harry sing-songs and wraps his limbs around Louis.

Niall steps back and blinks at where Harry is groping Louis’s arse. He will complain to Harry about that one later. Apparently he’s never heard of being subtle.

“Hey...erm...cupcake,” Louis says back.

Niall mouths out the word ‘cupcake’ to himself and plan “fake boyfriend” is falling apart before his eyes and then Harry laughs. Just full-blown laughs. He rests his head in the crook of Louis’s shoulders and giggles against his collarbones.

“Cupcake? That’s new,” Harry says and places a gentle kiss on Louis’s temple. Well. Okay.

Niall joins in the laughter. “Thought it sounded mental. The only petnames Louis gives out are to his goldfish. I’m Niall.”

“Harry,” he replies and wiggles out from where Louis was holding him against himself. When did that happen? “Not to be ‘those people’ and make you a third wheel or anything, but Louis promised me tea?”

Louis tries to look like he did promise this nearly a complete stranger a cuppa and Niall just rolls his eyes. “I’m not doing that again. Not after the ‘Ziam’ incident of 2013. Good luck and make sure to use condoms, ya twats.” He leaves with a parting wave and Louis is alone.

“That was a bit much, sorry,” Harry apologises as soon as Niall is gone. “He seems nice. I like him. Oh, and don’t ever call me cupcake again. I swear all dessert breads cringed in horror.”

Louis wants to defend himself. Scream that he’s actually an incredible actor, but Harry pounced on him out of fucking nowhere, but he ends up grunting, “Don’t touch my arse and I’ll think about it.”

Harry smiles and nods his agreement, pulling a familiar batch of papers out from behind his back. What. Is Harry a magician too? “Ready to make this official?” he says and wiggles his eyebrows.

This is going to fail. This is going to fail so horribly that he’s not sure if he should start apologising to everyone now or wait a few days.

“Right,” Louis states (mostly to himself) and leads the way to a secluded corner of campus.

As soon as they get to a spot Louis is certain no one will catch them, he drops his stuff and plops down underneath the shadow of a tree. Harry smiles a bit before sitting himself down and pulling what looks like a basket down beside himself. Okay, Harry Styles is definitely a wizard.

“Clause 1: Public Affection,” Harry reads and, nope, Louis isn’t doing this today.

“I’ve read the contract, babe. Let’s just sign it and be done, yeah?” he snaps rather rudely.

Harry clears his throat and repeats. “ _Clause 1: Public Affection_ ,” and Louis groans.

He let’s Harry’s deep voice soothe him as he thinks about what they’re doing. To be fair, Louis knows this a horrible idea. Idiotic, stressful, bound to fail...the list goes on, but here they are going over each clause of the contract. And...what does that mean? He’s guessing this means he’s a bloody idiot and should have just given everyone on his team the “homophobic” lecture he has written out with a powerpoint presentation.

But...he’s in too deep now. His mother called him, crying on the phone because of the facebook notification she received on his updated relationship status. Zayn and Liam have taken turns making him breakfast and joking over what humiliating stories to tell Harry first (“Definitely the one about Louis kissing the goalie on national tellie,” Niall added in and got kicked in consequence.), and the rumours of Louis being taken have spread across campus. Doesn’t mean the crude gestures and names have stopped, just that they are rare and far between.

It looks like lying is the only way to live his life anymore. At least Harry was nice enough to bring snacks.

“Sign here," Harry concludes and points at the bottom of the last page. Louis doesn't think, just signs under Harry's pointer finger. "Okay, I guess it's official! I've got to go call my mum. I'll call you later...boyfriend."

Oh god. Harry actually grabs the signed contract and skips away, mobile on his ear. This isn’t going to end pretty.

***

His phone actually rings late in the night. Louis is cuddled in between Liam and Zayn and he’s feeling very comfortable right now, so when they kick him out of Zayn’s bed because he didn’t shut off his mobile, Louis curses and answers the phone full on annoyed at the world.

“What.”

“Oh,” Harry’s voice greets him and Louis checks the time on his phone. “This is a bad time.”

“It’s three in the morning. It’s a Tuesday,” is Louis’s response.

“Okay, so I’ll just write a note to myself that Louis does not like to be woken up in the middle of the night when Harry has brilliant ideas.”

A sigh, because part of him expected this. “You’re taking the piss. Please don’t tell me that I’ve been kicked out of bed because you have an idea.”

“Yeah, I can’t just not say that because then you won’t ask me what my brill idea is.”

Louis contemplates just hanging up, but then he’ll never know what the idea is and he’s not sure if he can fall asleep like that. All alone. In his cold, unused bed. Mind racing against his will because he’s an idiot and decided to do idiotic things. Like leave his phone on. So, he pulls his knickers up from where they were sagging against his hip and lets it happen.

“What is your idea?”

“You don’t sound like you actually want to know,” and Jesus, kid, let Louis have this one.

“Fine. Can we add in the ‘Clause 4: Communication’ that all conversations take place between reasonable hours?”

“This is a reasonable hour.” Lies, Harry. Lies.

“What is your idea?!” Louis asks for a second time, hoping to Pope Francis that Harry will tell him so that he can get some rest before his Psychology course tomorrow afternoon.

“That’s the spirit, you sound proper excited now. We should get couples’ t-shirts.”

Louis doesn’t even have the mental capacity to curse at him, let alone hang up. He just lets the mobile device hang against his ear as he tries not to faint from the irritation he feels at the moment.

“Harry you little shit,” he does end up gritting out, because Harry took his silence as approval and went off on different designs (“A compass and a boat! Brill, right? I saw it on pinterest, Lou. Lou?”).

“Louis you big bastard. Wait, that doesn’t really work. Your petnames are actual rubbish, Lou.”

He just can’t do this anymore. He hangs up and pushes his mobile far underneath the cushions of his couch. That might go against clause four, but his mental health takes precedence.

***

“Was it necessary to hang up on me?” Harry greets him a couple days later. He waited patiently during football practice in the stands. Sadly, his teammates all smiled and passed Louis the ball more once they saw physical proof. He really wishes he could document this and send it into some science lab. “Behold: Actual Humans Living Without Brains.”

“Was it necessary to call me at three in the morning?” Louis questions back and kisses Harry on the cheek when George looks over.

Harry smiles and fixes Louis’s fringe. “So you don’t want to see the shirts?”

No. Okay, maybe he did. Only because he has a thing for nautical themes. He blames his grandfather and their fishing trips. “Bring them to the game,” he huffs and pretends Harry’s face doesn’t light up like a bloody Christmas tree.

They’ve made plans for a big “Meet-My-Boyfriend-Who-May-Or-May-Not-Be-Fake” dinner with Zayn and Liam after the game tomorrow night. So, yeah. Louis suspected they’d want a bigger thing after Niall told them about meeting Harry (“He just shook your hand and stole Louis away?!” Liam hissed, looking scandalised). So they planned it out like this. Actually, Harry’s the one that planned it. Louis is still wondering why he has to be stressed over a game and a dinner in one day.

Harry seems to sense Louis’s emotional breakdown and pulls him into a cuddle. Niall coos from his goalpost. “You’ll do fine. Just don’t snog anyone this time around, okay? I don’t think it’d be socially acceptable to keep dating you after that,” he whispers against Louis’s forehead.

He has a point. “Right,” he responds and pulls away, promptly ignoring Harry making grabby hands for another cuddle. “So what did you need me to do today again?”

Harry looks at his wristwatch and frowns. “Oh yeah, we’ve got to get going. We’re going to be late.”

“Late for what, exactly?” Louis says, but lets Harry pull him out of the practice field and to the car park.

“We’re just meeting a few people. As boyfriends. You know what I mean.”

They get to a black range rover and Harry, ever the gentleman, opens the passenger door for Louis to climb up to. Because the vehicle is massive. Really, what is he trying to compensate for?

“I smell. Also, I’m still in my jersey.” He pouts a little when Harry ignores him in favour of backing out.

“You’re fine, babe.”

No, he’s really not. He has his own groupies of flies hanging about his head and grass stains all along his legs. If they were meeting Harry’s mates in a rubbish pile, maybe he’d be fine. But he has a feeling that they aren’t going to meet anywhere near rubbish. What a pity.

He pouts some more and looks out the window and. Shit. “Harry what the fuck?! Slow down!” he yelps upon seeing the speed at which their surroundings are flying by.

“What? Oh we’re fine.”

They aren’t fine. They narrowly miss a cat on the street. For once in his life, Louis says a silent prayer to all the deities he knows. Maybe one of them will overlook his homosexuality to save his sorry arse when they inevitably skid off the road. Just in case, Louis adds in Pope Francis. Because why the hell not. He’s a terrific Pope.

Harry looks away from the street to stare at Louis and Louis can see his upcoming funeral in the horizon. Hopefully more people than what he imagines show up. “Are you...praying…?” Harry questions with a quirk of his eyebrow. Now is not the time!

“Is being pious a deal breaker for you?” he snaps back.

Harry ponders this question, eyes still focused on Louis. “Hmmm...nooo,” he says slowly.

Louis pulls out his phone, rearranging his emergency contacts so that Zayn gets called first and writing out his will. He’ll give Liam his footie shoes, Niall his inflatable dick, and Zayn his second to favourite beanie. The rest of things will be divided amongst those few he imagines will actually show up to his funeral ceremony. So, like two or three people. Strangely, he doesn’t recognise the faces.

“Unless you’re a Westboro Baptist. I can’t stand those people,” Harry finalises and, thank all those deities he prayed to in his sudden religiously devout attitude, because he looks back to the road and swerves to miss a head on collision with a truck. A special thank you to Pope Francis and his pope-y-ness.

He decides against telling Harry that Westboro is a city in America and instead carefully places his head between his knees. The smell of the grass and dirt clinging onto his leg hairs calms him down enough so that when they brake sudden, he feels somewhat level headed. If he ignores his nausea.

“We’re here! Homes Chapel, Chesire. Home to chapels. That isn’t true. Come along, Lou. We’re like, two hours late.”

Chesire? What the hell are they doing in Chesire?! He groans and falls out of the vehicle, lays down on the ground, and places a few delicate kisses into the earth. Praise Francis. May his little Catholic heart be placed into high heavens.

Harry’s shadow crosses his forehead and he looks up from the ground to glare at his face eating grin. “Why do you keep mumbling about the pope, Louis? I don’t think the Roman Catholic Church likes that.”

Ouch. Louis has a special bond with the Pope now. He may even look into the whole religion thing when they get home. Maybe. Probably not. “Fuck off.”

Harry shrugs. “Let’s get a move on. Gemma’s not very patient.”

Gemma. That sounds like a disease or an elderly woman with fifty cats. He’s thinking it’s probably the latter. Harry would make friends with cat ladies. He probably watches over her cats when she has to go out of town to take care of her long-lost relative. Louis holds his hands up and Harry rolls his eyes before bending over and helping him up from the ground.

“You smell,” Harry comments lightly before grabbing Louis’s hand and marching across a row of rose bushes to the front door of a very white house. “We met in the library, your second cousin has cancer, and you support my botany ambitions,” he whispers after knocking on the door.

What. “What?” Louis whispers back.

Harry continues. “You fell in love with me after I told you that I hate broccoli and somewhere between now and then you’ve written me twenty different poems about my eye colour.”

Eye colour?! Who actually looks at people’s eyes. Maybe Louis could get out a sentence over Harry’s arse (You have a firm looking arse that I want to touch.), but he’s not eloquent enough to spout out verses about it. “Erm,” he stammers out and the door opens.

A very angry young lady with blue hair answers the door. “Harry you little shit,” she hisses.

“Oh, you and Louis are going to get along perfectly,” Harry announces and pulls Louis past the girl and into the frontroom where two more people are waiting.

“Harry! Pumpkin! How was the drive?” A beautiful woman with long, dark brown hair and twinkling eyes bounces over and absolutely crushes Harry in her delicate looking arms.

And then it hits him. Either Harry is one-third of triplets or this is his family. Bleeding hell. An older man with a belly and a grin walks over and nods his head at Louis. “You must be the boyfriend. Good to meet you.”

“Wait. No, you’re not dating Harry. You’re too...normal,” the blue-haired girl says loudly and pokes at Louis’s face. “And you’re somewhat attractive. You’re definitely not my little brother’s type.”

Harry wiggles and claws his way out from underneath the other lady’s arms and slaps his sister’s arm. “He is too my type!”

She’s not fazed. “Nope. You’re into older men with lots of money.”

Which. Hey. “I am older than this git!” Louis finally vocalises and, whoops, maybe calling your boyfriend a git isn’t the way to go.

Harry’s sister finally smiles in approval and walks away. The man follows after her and the older woman attacks Louis, cradling him in her arms. He’s never been hugged so efficiently before. “Darling Louis, we’ve heard so much about you! Top ten percent of your class and everything. No wonder you met Harry in the library. You probably live there!” she coos into his ear.

What is it with everyone and their obsession with libraries.

“Mum,” Harry whispers, absolutely flustered.

Mum. Fucking Christ. They really are at his family’s house. Harry’s mum let’s go of him and winks. “You smell dear, welcome to the family. I’ll let you two have a minute,” she turns to Harry and pinches his cheek. “Don’t take too long.” And she walks to the other room.

“Gemma isn’t a cat lady,” Louis whispers to himself when she’s gone.

“Not yet,” Harry replies and smiles.

Louis is quick to wipe that smile away. He slaps him. Quite a few times. “You brought me to your parent’s house?!” he hisses between slaps.

Harry groans out in pain and holds his hands up in wimpy protest. “It’s in our contract!”

“Okay, yeah I expected to meet your bloody parents, but I thought there’d be a good warning involved. ‘Hey Louis, how about after your footie practice, I drive like a maniac to Chesire and introduce you to my gorgeous mum and slightly insane sister?’! That’s all it took.”

“You’re the one that hung up on me,” Harry states simply and walks away.

Well, whatever. If he expects Louis to play this game, he will be very disappointed.

***

“So...Louis,” Gemma says loudly between bites of green beans.

They’re all sat at a dining table. Harry is to his left, cutting up his steak into small sections, his tongue is sticking out in his concentration and Louis has not been staring at the cute mannerism for the past five minutes. Not at all. Anne, Harry’s mum, is to his right and at the end of the semi-lengthy wooden table. She is smiling in content, just looking between him and Harry. Louis has been trying to ignore her heart eyes. Gemma is across the table from him and Robin is sat next to her. He doesn’t say much.

“So Gemma,” Louis replies, equally loud. Harry cringes accordingly.

“I’m wondering why it is that you’ve been avoiding us for two years,” Gemma snaps and slams her fork back on the table. Erm. He blinks a few times and glances over at Harry. Two years. It’s barely been two weeks. Harry, for his part, is taking his time cutting up his meat, resolutely avoiding Louis’s eye. Great.

“You know...erm, just been,” he coughs here and scratches his nose. “Busy…” Two years. Two bloody years. Gemma rolls her eyes, picks up her knife, and stabs her steak while staring Louis right in the eye. Well...fair enough.

Harry finally saves him from what looks like homicide by cutlery. “You know that Lou’s been doing volunteer work. Don’t be a prat,” he tells Gemma. Yeah, sure. Tell the woman currently dissecting her dinner to not be a prat. If they ever get teleported into a horror film, Louis is ditching Harry within the first five minutes. Survival.

“And I thought your name was Will,” she snaps a third, maybe fourth time.

Harry is quick to combat this accusation. “That’s his middle name.”

Anne clears her throat with a look of patience only mothers can muster. “Gemma, you’re being rude. Harry, don’t call Gemma nasty names. Louis, I’m glad you’re here. Sorry for the impolite tone of conversation.” Robin grunts.

Well, okay. “Erm, glad to be here...finally.”

“Finally,” Gemma agrees.

“Finally,” Harry, Anne, and Robin say together.

Right.

***

They get through the rest of dinner and dessert with small chit-chat before packing up in Harry’s range rover and leaving again. The Spanish Inquisition would have been less painful.

“You were perfect,” Harry says genuinely, speeding like a man on the run from law.

Louis ignores him, because there is no universe in which that was perfect. He might get ulcers from this. “Who’s Will?”

And Harry’s smile drops off the face of the planet. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

During dessert, probably spurred on by Gemma’s killer glares, he thought about it. Really, truly put the pieces together like a god damn detective. Everything came back to this mysterious Will. “Is Will your ex? Did you make up a man named Will? Who the hell is Will?!”

“Okay first, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

“Fuck off.”

“Good. Now don’t take this the wrong way.”

Bleeding hell. Harry killed a man. “I’m not going to jail again!”

“What?” he looks over at Louis and regards him with a _‘what are you on?’_ eyebrow quirk. “Never mind. Will is my boyfriend.”

And. “I’m dating a bloke with a boyfriend? “

“Fake dating,” Harry corrects quickly.

This actually explains a lot, because Harry is really good at acting like a domestic boyfriend. The casual temple kisses, appropriate handholding, and the way he talks to Louis--all gentle and stuff. Louis thought he was just a natural. But it looks like the lad has got experience. Eh. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Mostly he’s irritated he’s playing the part of an absentee bloke with serious issues. “Two years?! You’ve been dating for two years and he hasn’t met your family? No wonder Gemma looked like she was going to chop me up by the end of the night.”

Harry slams his brakes and turns the wheel so they skid to a stop at the side of the road. A few cows standing close to the road look thoroughly traumatised by the affair. “That isn’t fair.” Harry puts the car into park and glares at Louis. He looks more like an offended kitten than a grown man. “Will is in the Peace Corps. They’re building schools for children in Guatemala right now. Last year they went to Ghana to get clean water for villages. The year before last he had pneumonia.”

“Have you ever met this bloke?” Louis asks, because 1) he sounds imaginary, 2) he sounds like a very busy imaginary person, 3) he sounds like a very busy imaginary person with some seriously amazing volunteer work under his belt.

Harry looks scandalised. “Of course I have!”

“Just checking, babe. Catfishing is actually really common.”

A pause. “Louis, you’ve met Will.”

“Harry, I meet a lot of ‘Will’s.”

“He was on the footie team just year.”

“There are like five ‘Will’s on the team, Harold. It’s a very common name in England. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there is a Prince William!”

“Okay, but you two were chummy. He talked about you all the time. How else would I know all that stuff about you?”

“A mass amount of stalking, perhaps? I really haven’t a clue who this Will character is.”

“I think he was number eleven or nine? He has short black hair and slightly large ears.”

Oh. Oh. _OH_ ….bollocks. Louis knows Will. Will is the epitome of perfection. He’s had a fair number of fantasies over Will, to be perfectly honest. He has this huge smile that he smiles at anyone that dares to look him in the eye. Louis has this theory that anyone that stares into his eyes for longer than fifteen seconds just explodes on spot. Will is also a very good footie player. No one knows what happened to him this semester. He just disappeared off the face of the planet. Or, you know, went off to help a whole community get a proper education. God bless Will. Actually, Francis bless Will.

Also, he has very, very large ears. Massively big ears.

But...Harry doesn’t need to know all this. “Yeah, that doesn’t help. Literally every other Will has massive ears. It’s like a curse of the Will.”

Harry groans and shakes his head before putting the car back into drive and speeding off into the sunset.

“What are you going to do when Will comes back?” Louis asks after a few moments of silence.

"I'll work it out when the time comes,” is Harry’s response. And.

What an idiot. "Your funeral."

Harry clears his throat and shifts around a little before whispering, "What do you think I should do?" so softly that Louis actually questions if he heard correctly.

"You should probably ring your family and say, 'Hey, I'm about to sound like a real twat, but the bloke you met tonight isn't the bloke I'm dating. The bloke I am currently dating is in Guatemala helping the less fortunate.' Problem solved. You're welcome."

Harry bites his lip and ducks his head. A small Volkswagon honks and passes them on the road really aggressively. He isn't the least bit surprised. Finally, Harry mutters, "Will doesn't want to meet my family."

Oh shit. Nope, he did not sign up for this. He is not a couples therapy person. He is actually speechless. Like he has nothing to say. Someone should be recording this. To his misery, Harry doesn't comment any further either and they spend the last half-hour of the trip in painful silence. When they pull up to his flat, Louis turns and grabs Harry's hand.

"Thank you for letting me meet your family. They are wonderful."

Harry actually beams and ducks his head to hide his blush. "Thanks Lou, good night."

But. "I swear to Francis that I will castrate you if you try to ring me before the sunrises," he adds, just because it's getting too sentimental.

He turns and walks away when he hears Harry mention something about couples tattoos.

***

Game day finds Louis hunched over his toilet. This is a familiar position. Dear lord.

"What are we going to do?!" Liam panics above him after he retches up his ham sandwich. "He's supposed to be there in fifteen minutes!"

Zayn is pacing. "Give him a bag and hope he doesn't fill it by the time we get to the pitch."

And that's how Louis ends up face first on the tile of the gym floor, moaning loudly, and breathing heavily. The team is surrounding him all murmuring and mourning the fallen warrior that is Louis Tomlinson.

"The referee is giving us five more minutes before we have to send in a substitute," George announces, joining the group.

Louis lurches forward and vomits on his shoes. It wasn't planned, but karma is a bitch. Niall comes running over with a curly haired, fedora wearing lad racing after him.

"I've got Harry! Move out of the way!" Niall all but screams. Everyone disperses and Paul sends them to do warm-ups, leaving Louis and Harry alone.

He rolls over and regards Harry. "They sent you," he states.

"They sent me," Harry confirms and kneels down next to where he’s laying on the floor. He pushes Louis’s fringe out of his face and coos a bit before asking, “What has got your tummy all upset, Lou?”

Louis frowns and tries to wiggle away, but ends up pushing his head against Harry’s hand. Hey, he’s sick. And Harry has massive hands. “You’re wearing a fedora.”

Harry rolls his eyes and scratches at the hair behind Louis’s ear, and, well, that feels really nice. “You didn’t know I would be wearing a fedora.”

“I woke up this morning and felt a twist in my gut. Suddenly, I knew you were going to make an absurd fashion statement at my game. Of course I had to duck my head into the toilet,” Louis is quick to snap.

Harry removes his hand and tuts, “That isn’t a very nice thing to say. You are not my kind of pal.”

He isn’t actually paying attention to that, because he’s practically begging for Harry to continue the head massage in his mind. So, in this moment of weakness, he whines and and reaches for Harry’s hand, placing it back in it’s rightful place on top of his head. Harry sighs, but continues his stroking and scratching.

“You know what I think? I think you’re worried about the people in the stands that witnessed your display of affection on the pitch a few weeks ago,” Harry states.

Well, okay so maybe he’s a bit more intuitive than Louis gave him credit for. When he doesn’t respond, Harry nods and taps his shoulder. “Come along. They’re going to start the game and your substitute is actual rubbish. Oh and the people in the stands don’t bloody well care for what you do outside of footie games. They just want you to score points, yeah? Relax, you’ll be fine.”

He will not relax. He will not be fine. Lies, magic hands Harry. Lies. He must say this out loud, because Harry smiles and bends down to kiss his nose. His nose. What. “Lou, stop worrying. Your team needs you. You’re talented and they all know it. Niall was actually hyperventilating when he found me.”

And. Okay, his team needs him. If he can’t do it for himself, he’ll do it for his homophobic band of lads. Which. Yeah, that actually sounds awful, but he’ll work out their title later when he doesn’t smell like vomit and dirty gym floor. He lets Harry pull him up and stumbles a bit before raising his chin and marching like a god damn legend to the pitch. It would be more dramatic if Harry wasn’t ‘aww’-ing behind him.

When he reaches his team, Niall actually bursts into tears. The rest cheer and they all line up on the field. He’s so in the zone that he nearly misses the crowd chanting his name. Nearly.

***

“So Harry, what are your plans for the future,” Liam asks, setting a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table.

They lost the game, but it happens. Louis scored eight goals. The other team just happened to score a good twenty. Niall was too upset to come to dinner. Currently, Zayn is plating his mum’s famous chicken while Liam interrogates Harry. Louis knows this plan. They’re good cop, bad cop-ing this meal, but he’s positive Harry will pass with flying colours. The lad is one hundred percent good. Louis suspects he even apologises when people bump into him.

Harry and him have commandeered the couch to lounge about while dinner is being set up. He, of course, made Harry remove his fedora hat before coming over. Only because Liam had his own fedora-wearing episode and Louis does not want to remind Zayn of the dark times. Plus he likes Harry’s long, flowy hair.

“I’m studying Botany,” Harry answers, his head in Louis’s lap because Louis wanted to pet his soft-looking hair.

“You want to study Botany for the rest of your life?” Zayn questions coming from the kitchen with a bottle of wine. Bad cop.

Harry flushes and tries to sit up, but, nope, not having that, Louis pushes him back on his lap. Still flustered, Harry stammers out, “No, I’m looking into biotechnology. Make life better one plant at a time and all that.”

Liam and Zayn look at each other before nodding. Liam asks, “So Harry, how many sexual partners have you had?”

Erm. “So looks like dinner is ready to go!” Louis says loudly and pushes Harry off him.

They gather around the table and dig in. To his horror, Liam and Zayn aren’t nearly done questioning Harry.

“What are you views on politics?” Liam asks next.

Dear Francis, please save them from an awkward inquisition dinner. Just in case Francis is busy, Louis decides to try and shift things. “Hey Liam, why don’t you tell young Harold here about your firefighter training course.”

Harry starts jumping around on this chair and exclaims, “You’re a firefighter?! That is so sick!”

Liam beams and goes into detail about his courses and training. Zayn levels Louis with a _‘I know what you’re up to, idiot’_ glare, but he can’t help but smile at Liam getting all excited over talking about something he loves. Dinner goes smoothly after that.

***

“I approve,” Liam annouces once Harry has left with a good-bye peck on Louis’s lips.

“Good lad.” He nods and glances at Zayn.

He huffs and gathers dirty plates from the table. “Whatever. He’s a fucking angel.”

Plan “Fake Boyfriend” is going better than he thought it would. Who would have imagined that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless. You're all lovely.


	3. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where everyone hates Louis and Harry is a sex god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU'RE ALL LOVELY SORRY I KEPT THIS CHAPTER ON MY COMPUTER FOR A MILLION YEARS BEFORE RELEASING IT! Also, it's sort of a disaster of a thing.
> 
> Remember, this is crack, yeah? Thanks.

There’s a grown man in the corner ripping up sheets of paper one after another while glaring at a huge manual sized novel.

“Here’s the plan, H,” Niall whispers. Harry nods accordingly. “You introduce me and I flirt until her soul is captured.”

Louis tries not to roll his eyes. Judging by the glares he’s receiving from both Niall and Harry, he didn’t succeed. He hears Harry complain about his “ignorance to true love,” but Louis couldn’t give two shits. The two leave in pursuit of the “Ethereal Beauty” from Niall’s sociology course and leave Louis alone. In the bloody library.

He tries to start his essay again, but the man’s sheet ripping ritual over in the corner is very, very distracting. How are people supposed to study in this environment?

“Mate, could you chill it with your emo destruction phase over there?” Louis snaps, because it wasn’t his idea to come here. No, Niall and Harry dragged him over complaining that they couldn’t get any revising done in their flat.

How did his life get to this point?

Louis chances a look over at where Niall is stumbling over himself and Harry is shrinking from second hand embarrassment. He should rescue Harry, at least. Boyfriends have that kind of ability to swoop in and steal their significant other from weird courtship rituals such as this.

But of course the man crying over whatever it is he was tearing to pieces comes over to tell him off. With a librarian. Joy.

“Listen here, young man, I have never seen you in here before, but interrupting other students while they study is a clear violation of this library’s rules,” the librarian states sternly. The man nods.

Louis sighs. “Right, but he was distracting me from my own studies,” he argues because he is an absolute idiot. He should just go home and write about the importance of trade during the late-seventeenth century at his flat.

The man sucks in an offended breath. “I am the campus-renown method actor! What you perceived as ‘distracting’ is actually the only way I can get into this particular character.”

Right. Louis starts packing. To his great misfortune, the librarian takes the bait. “What character are you preparing for, Mr. Thompson.”

“The theatre department is performing the critically acclaimed play, ‘Stanley’ about a man who loses everything in his life except his own poetry. Even then, he must rip apart each word he’s written as sacrifice for his one true love!” the man, Mr. Thompson, yells out for the whole building to hear. At Louis’s unimpressed face, he adds, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Louis gets up and walks away, satchel and unwritten essay in both of his clenched hands. He goes to Harry and Niall first, interrupting a conversation evolving spoons or something. Harry is so red in the face that Louis is slightly worried about his circulatory health.

“We need to leave before this bloke acts out Shakespeare,” he tells them.

Barbara looks grateful, Harry looks like he’s finally breathing, and Niall shrugs before waving goodbye. Alas, they’re stopped by Sir “Better Than You” and his Book-Loving Sidekick.

“You,” Mr. Thompson pokes Louis’s chest, “Wouldn’t understand this play because only those people who have lived through such tragedy understand Stanley’s grief.”

Harry literally perks up by his side. “Stanley?! Ohmygodlouswehavetoseeitwhenitcomesout. It looks so romantic!”

The actor looks proud. Louis just feels like vomiting. Preferably on everyone involved. But he has a death sentence, he supposes. Or he is just finished with bullshit for today. “No thanks, love,” he dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand and trots off to leave this hellhole.

And the world stops. Several panicked reactions cause him to turn back to the group.

“Excuse me?” Thompson says.

“Louis,” Niall chastises silently.

The librarian widens her eyes and tuts.

Harry. Harry looks normal. “Oh, all right,” he says, sounding mildly defeated. “You go on ahead. Niall and I need to finish up our school work.”

Louis shrugs and leaves.

***

He finally finishes the last page of his essay when Niall comes into the house. Harry isn’t without him, which is weird. Harry usually hangs about until late, but their contract doesn’t demand that sort of behavior...so whatever. Him not being here isn’t too big of a deal.

Niall looks murderous. “What the actual fuck?!” he demands as soon as he sees Louis.

Zayn walks out of his room, sees Niall’s face, turns around, and walks back.

“Well Niall, I just disproved that weird ‘students only get work done in the library’ theory thing going on,” Louis responds, holding up his laptop for Niall to view his finished work.

Niall grabs the computer from his hands and places it carefully on the dining table behind himself. “Louis,” he says as he gets into Louis’s space. “You’ve really messed up this time. Completely buggered yourself over and I don’t even know how you’re going to fix it!”

A pause. “Okay what did I do?”

Niall swears and throws something across the room. It shatters and puts a dent in their wall. “I’m finished. Done. I’m not even going to--you know what, I hope you don’t figure it out because your cheating and heartbreaking ways are really stressing me out. I’m getting wrinkles, Lou.”

He leaves after flipping Louis off. This doesn’t seem like a good sort of problem.

Zayn comes out of his room with Liam trailing softly behind him. The two regard the scene of the chaos with scared, exchanged looks of shock. “Lou…” Liam starts, but trails off.

Zayn picks up the thought. “So you and Harry are arguing?”

What.

“No,” Louis says instantly, even laughing at the thought. Zayn and Liam exchange another look. What the buggering fuck is going on. “Why? Did Harry tell you something?” Suddenly, he feels uneasy. This contracted, fake charade Harry and him having been putting on for a good month and a half is the only secret he’s kept from them.

If they ever found out...well, he definitely wouldn’t be cuddled to sleep anymore.

“Do you ever pay attention to what anyone else says?” Liam snaps and, holy shit calm down kid.

Louis puts his hands up in surrender. “How about someone take the time to explain this all to me, because I’m horrendously confused.”

They don’t do that. In fact, they both flip him the bird and leave the flat as well.

Louis prints his essay out, staples it neatly in a pile, and goes to Zayn’s bed for the night. Certainly this whole thing will blow over by tomorrow.

***

It doesn’t blow over. In fact, all four boys don’t speak to him. Harry, albeit, in a more apologetic manner.

_Can’t get tea with you today. Something came up x._

“What came up?” Louis asks out loud, ignoring the glares of the people in the queue behind himself. He orders two green teas anyway, just in case. That ought to earn him some boyfriend points.

But the teas go untouched and cold.

Pope Francis didn’t die for this.

***

“I didn’t think this would be a thing, but Niall has been glaring at you all practice,” George says during practice after they’ve broken off into pairs for lunges.

Ohh Louis has noticed. Niall isn’t very good at multi-tasking. “Nothing to concern your head over, babe,” Louis says just to watch George flinch and run away. He doesn’t, just cocks his head to the side.

“He seems proper upset over something,” he muses to Louis’s displeasure.

“Can read minds now, can you?” he deadpans.

George shrugs. “Nah, he’s just kicking a ball with a photo of your face on the side of it. He’s very aggressive about it.”

Louis is the one to flinch and run away.

This is definitely something he will have nightmares over.

***

The final straw comes in the form of his shoes. They are glued to the floor. That is entirely counter-productive.

He calmly grabs his mobile from his pocket and calls a certain Harry Styles.

“Sorry Lou, I can’t come over because I’ve got some--”

“Cut the shit, you nuisance. Why are my mates destroying my life? They won’t tell me, but it has something to do with you.” This probably isn’t the right approach to solving conflicts.

Harry is silent before sighing very loudly. “Niall told me that I let you push me around.”

Oh. “Sorry?”

“He said that I shouldn’t let you dismiss my ideas like you did at the library, because it was...well...mean,” Harry says quickly, hardly taking a breath.

He has to rack his brain, but Louis thinks he knows the cause of this. “Do you mean that rubbish play about tearing up parchments?” Louis takes Harry’s silence as confirmation. “Oh...I didn’t realize I hurt your feelings. I just really didn’t want to see that bloke’s face again.”

More silence.

“Erm, I’m sorry, Haz. It won’t happen again. I’ll think before I do stuff now, all right?”

He can hear Harry’s smile when he responds, “Oh, okay. This means you don’t hate me, right?”

“It just means I hate your taste in theatre, but we can work on it,” he tries to joke and, luckily, Harry yelps a laugh in reply.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line before Harry asks, “What does this mean?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking..?” Louis responds.

Harry hangs up and, well, at least it’s all over with. He flings his phone at the sofa and grabs a pair of scissors to set to work on his shoes.

***

For some reason, his little chat on the phone did not solve his “best mates hate his guts” issue. In fact, they’ve grown more tactic with their displays of unaffection. Namely, Zayn burning all of his jumpers in a fire, Liam drinking all his favourite tea, and Niall becoming increasingly aggressive towards photographs placed on inanimate objects.

Clearly, he’s missed a step somewhere because Harry has yet to visit him at all.

He decides to take action in his own hands and goes about running errands.

“Sold out. Really.”

A bored looking girl in a ponytail stares back at him. “Okay, I don’t usually say stuff like this, but you come here the night before a major production and expect five tickets to magically appear for you?”

Louis really doesn’t appreciate her tone. In fact, he tells her so and she closes the ticket booth. Exasperated, he pounds on the glass and shouts, “My boyfriend really wants to see it and I promised him I’d get him a seat.”

The metal shutters reopen with the girl looking troubled on the other side. She whispers so quietly he struggles to hear her, “You didn’t hear this from me, but actors of the shows get exactly five complimentary tickets. One of them has yet to cash in on his tickets.”

The shutters close again just as Louis’s faith in humanity rekindles.

Now, who’s the sorry sob of a performer that hasn’t used their consolation tickets?

***

“No,” both of them say at the same time.

Mr. Thompson sniffs his nose into the air and Louis just about punches the nearest wall.

Of course. Of bleeding course his life is one of those fucking karma episodes on tellie you watch Saturday mornings because you secretly enjoy watching someone get thoroughly fucked over by life. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is.

The sticky soles on his shoes remind him that this is worth it, but he’s still incredibly upset over this ordeal.

“Here’s the deal, Mr. Thompson,” Louis says, thinking on his toes. “I’ve heard some incredible reviews about your performance in past plays and I didn’t realize that that Mr. Thompson was in fact the same Mr. Thompson I angered in the library.” The actor brightens a bit, but doesn’t say a word. “In fact, I was so humiliated by that scene that I...erm, burned all of my jumpers in a pile outside of my flat building.”

Mr. Thompson looks impressed and incredulous at the same time. “Did you really or are you just lying through your teeth for tickets?”

Louis smiles.

***

He finds all four of them in same place. A place they know Louis would try not to go. A place where they might be productive while they avoid him.

He finds them at the table between the botany and biochemistry sections at the library.

“We have plans tonight,” he tells all of them. They jump and shout at the sound of his voice.

He produces the tickets and watches as Harry’s eyes light up. Niall observes Harry’s reaction and nods at the two others before turning and saying, “Your apology has finally been accepted, you absolute wanker.”

Harry nods and jumps at Louis, clawing for the tickets.

***

“Oh...lover of mine, I will give up the only thing I have for you--”

The play is actual rubbish, but Harry is tearing up beside him, fascinated by scenes on the stage. He, himself, is a bit nostalgic by the whole thing. He remembers when he was a performer. He even recalls the thrill he had getting up and pretending to be someone he wasn’t entirely for an audience.

A thrill that football replaced, but everyone has stepping stones in their lives. Maybe he’ll audition for something just for the hell of it. He’s got enough practice now that he should be able to pick up anything they throw at him.

Life is hard.

Niall leans over during the intermission when Harry races for the loo.

“I swear to god you better treat him like a person, Louis. I don’t care how good of friends we are, if you treat that bloke like shit again, I will end you,” Niall threatens darkly.

Louis looks away from the empty seat next to him and frowns. “I apologised and I promised I wouldn’t do it again. We talked it over, Ni.”

Glancing at the doors again, Niall scoots closer. “I don’t think you understand, Lou. I know that wasn’t the first time you’ve dismissed Harry.”

His stomach drops and his heart races in his chest. He’s mulled over how Harry has sort of been using him, but isn’t he doing just the same to Harry? He’s even lost a bit of sleep over the idea.

“You want to know how I know?” Niall continues, ripping Louis from his internal crisis. “He took it like a fucking champ.”

Louis blinks. What?

“You shut him down and he just rolled it off his shoulders. That--That’s just not something people in healthy relationships do and you need to get your head out of your arse before you strain your prostate.”

Harry returns on the word prostate and glances between Niall and Louis. “You guys found the prostate symbolism in that murdering scene too? Wicked! I think Stanley is secretly gay for his best mate and he’s really destroying his poetry because nothing is as beautiful as the conversations they have.”

Louis smiles while Harry sits back in his seat. He finishes the play pondering over Niall’s words.

***

Harry and him are lounging about Louis’s room when the announcement is made.

“We should have sex,” Harry says.

Louis falls off his bed and slams his face against his carpeting. Blood runs freely and this is why he sleeps in Zayn’s. This furniture is dangerous.

Stammering over his words, Louis whispers, “That’s against the thing I signed!” A few seconds pass, “Contract! That’s against our contract!”

Louis craves sex. He does. He’s horny and frustrated by his horniess, but he’s a grown arse adult that can handle that aspect of his life. Harry is in a relationship. Louis knows better than to go there. He’s got his hand and a plethora of toys to get himself through this.

Harry looks confused. His nose wrinkles up and his lips pout which would be extremely adorable if he didn’t have a boyfriend so...there. “Not actual sex, Lou. But...erm, I’ve heard stories about your...sexcapades and I don’t think your mates believe I’m pleasuring you.”

Louis nearly loses consciousness. “What?!”

“I’m not kink shaming or whatever, a lot of people are into exhibitionism, I’m just saying that our physical aspect of this relationship is not good enough,” Harry continues calmly as Louis’s life shuts down around him. “I am a sex god.”

That last part throws Louis a new one and he leaves the room. When he returns, Harry has messed up his room beyond repair. He was only gone for a minute or two.

“What are you doing?” he demands tiredly.

He needs a holiday after this.

Of course, Harry starts shredding his clothing. “Holy fuck no, I’m not having a naked Harold trotting around and germing up my flat!”

“Louis, people have sex naked.”

“Oh my god.”

“Get over yourself and help me out of my trousers. I think my belt is caught on something.”

Louis goes again leaving more than enough time for Harry to do whatever the fuck he was planning. Louis returns with snacks.

And.

Well.

The room looks like a post-sex scene straight out of Louis’s sex life and that is...someone did their research.

Harry’s clothes are just thrown everywhere, pants in the ceiling fan. His torso has a layer of sweat, his face is chapped red, and his hair is absolutely distraught. The room, itself, Louis knew would be a mess, but he can see a pattern of some sort. Like two people started foreplaying on the floor, grinded against his wardrobe, and ripped apart his bed.

As he’s studying the lube stains on the carpet, Harry throws a bottle of spray at his head. It hurts. The pain reminds him that his life sucks.

“Get undressed, spray yourself, and get under the covers before someone comes in,” Harry orders in a rough voice.

Jesus fucking Christ. It sounds like...well, okay. Louis goes about tossing everything off and spraying himself with the water. Wait, definitely not water.

“What did I just spray on myself,” Louis groans, grabbing the sides of his head to keep his headache calm.

Luckily, before he is to find out what substance his body has come in contact with because he honestly doesn’t want to know, the front door to his flat bursts open and he’s flying across the room to his bed.

Harry frowns at his pants. “You didn’t take your knickers off, Lou,” he says before rolling on top of him and sucking his face off.

What.

Shit.

The thing is is that Louis might have been...kind of sort of...imaging how kissing Harry would be like. Just when he’s falling asleep in class or trying to ignore his teammates in the locker room. It’s just something that happens. Hell, he’s wondered what kissing Niall would be like too, so it’s nothing that he’s ever put much thought into.

But.

The one off putting thing about the action that really sort of...aches at Louis’s chest a little is that there is a motive for the kissing. To be fair, at first touch of lips, Louis’s mind blanked for a good few seconds, lost in the soft and demanding lips. Once the initial shock of pleasure wore off, it felt off. Passionless or whatever.

Harry kissed him until his lips were bruised red and his body flushed. As soon as his task was finished, he rolled off the bed, stark naked, and strolled out of the room.

Choking noises and affronted gasps met Louis’s ears before Harry came trotting back with a cuppa and a manic expression on his face.

“I need to pick up groceries for my place. Call you later,” he whispers quickly before grabbing some of Louis’s clothes and throwing them on. “Make certain they see this room. In fact,” he pulls out his phone and takes a picture of it, smiling to himself.

With one last glance at Louis, he’s off and gone.

Right.

Louis sips on his tea and waits for the inevitable confrontation. He is surprised to find that when his mates come into his room, they’re grinning from ear to ear.

“Holy shit, I thought you two would never fuck,” Zayn says before wrinkling his nose up at the pair of pants still hanging from the fan.

Liam looks around before winking at Louis. “I knew you two would just explode your first time. All that pent up sexual energy.” He sits on Louis’s bed, mindful of the stains on the covers. “You used protection, yeah? I mean...no offense to Harry, but you’ve had sex with some buggered up looking blokes.”

Offended and just annoyed in general, Louis sniffs. “We’ve had sex before this, thanks.”

They laugh. “No need to lie, Lou,” Zayn chuckles and leaves the room.

“Yeah, we’re just happy that you two felt comfortable enough in your relationship to get to this stage,” Liam adds, eyeing a dildo Louis had no idea Harry had placed on the floor by the door.

Okay, yeah, this is stupid. “We were fucking before we got in a relationship,” he grumbles, because that is the story they know and he doesn’t get why they’re so surprised.

“We know, we just thought your physical side of the relationship fizzled out when you got into the relationship,” Liam shrugs.

Fuckity fuck. Harry’s phrase _“our physical aspect of this relationship is not good enough”_ plays like a drum in his head. Throbbing and not helping his headache.

Still, Louis fights it. “And you would know that how? Putting cameras up in my room? Harry’s room?”

Liam snorts. “You’ve never gone to Harry’s flat, mate. And let’s just say you’re louder than you think you are when doing the do.”

Zayn returns at this moment with two mugs of tea. “We’re just glad we didn’t have to hear this one,” Liam finishes before they leave him to mourn his sex life.

His boner has yet to die.

He’s going to die.

***

It gets worse. The kissing continues, which is a double-edged sword. It’s still the best and worst of Louis’s life and he’s not certain whether he wants it to stop or not. And, each kiss is different, is the thing.

He’s used to the hello and goodbye pecks, but sometimes when they’re left alone for a second, Harry will pounce on his mouth until somebody returns. Or he’ll suck a hickey on the side of Louis’s neck during a film while Niall throws popcorn at them.

It’s all very...intense all of a sudden. A fake sort of intense that makes Louis want to crawl under his bed.

But he also can’t help to appreciate how detail oriented Harry is with the whole thing.

Like right now during their pub night in the loo.

“Keep your trousers unzipped. Why did you have to wear black? They’ll be expecting cum stains,” Harry whispers as he messes with both their styled hairs.

Louis rolls his eyes. “They won’t be looking for any cum stains, Jesus.”

“They will and now they’ll think I’m bad at giving head.”

Louis breaths in and breaths out. “Right, how about you unzip your trousers since you’re wearing lighter jeans.”

Harry looks skeptical. Louis is slightly offended. “I give head all the time!”

“I know,” Harry sniffs, which...okay. At least he’s finally unzipping his trousers and spraying himself with the questionable liquid that smells a lot like something he doesn’t want to think about.

So...well, when in Rome. Louis drops to his knees and Harry freaks the fuck out. “What are you doing?!”

Louis flips him the bird and wiggles around on his knees until there are appropriate stains. Pee, dirt, alcohol, blood, what have you are on his favourite pair of trousers. It’s nothing he’s entirely unfamiliar with.

When they both decide they look the part, they leave the toilets to their whistling friends.

Niall, being the shit he is, smiles the widest and slaps Louis on the back. “Was wondering when you’d attack our innocent Harry. It’s been a while since you’ve given pub head.”

For some reason, instead of being disgusted that Niall keeps track, because...really, he’s not surprised anymore, he finds himself searching for Harry’s eye and giving him a good “told you so” look.

Harry pouts. The charade is broken.

“Erm, you okay mate?” Liam asks.

Zayn eyes Louis and...no, no his head giving skills are above par, damnit. He’s not letting his reputation get ruined over this...which is really pretty stupid to be worried about, but there are a few things Louis is proud about. This is one of them.

Harry shrugs and sips at his glass.

Louis is fuming.

“I think Ed is going to play tonight,” Niall says loudly and makes room for Louis and Harry in their booth.

“Possibly,” Zayn comments, bored.

“I hope so,” Liam whispers, looking down at the table.

Yeah, Louis has to clear this shit up. “Oh is Ed coming?” he asks a bit too cheerily. Liam cringes. “I love live performances at pubs. Hell, I like performing myself, but I especially enjoy when other people come. In fact, I encourage they come multiple times.”

It’s not his best work, but it gets the job done by looks of Liam’s flushed face.

Harry rolls his eyes. He has a death wish.

“But you know what makes Ed’s performances better than others?” he continues with no prompting. “He is a fantastic guitar player. Just a master at quick plucking. Fingering is incredibly important in every performance.”

Niall chokes on his beer. Zayn is unimpressed. Harry looks bored.

“I think I want nachos,” Harry announces and leaves.

Fuck it all to hell. He glares at his beer, the intensity of his stare giving himself a headache. Maybe he’ll try that “drinking away his troubles” shit everyone seems to do.

Niall pats his shoulder with a pitiful look in his eye. “It happens, mate. That’s how you evolve your sex life, honestly. Find out what works and what doesn’t. You can’t have fireworks with everything you try.” He shrugs and gets up to follow Harry.

Liam mutters something about using the loo and he’s left with Zayn.

“Use more tongue next time, Tomlinson. Jesus, you can’t lose this one over your piss poor head skills,” he announces before Niall and Harry return with food.

Louis finishes his beer off and steals Harry’s.

This is definitely something he wants to forget.

***

The next morning he wakes with a dry throat and a peculiar “P Diddy” feeling.

Harry is watching him from across the room. He has a packet of familiar papers and Louis dives back under his covers.

“Let’s not,” he croaks.

He hears Harry sigh. “Lou, we’ve got to talk about this.”

He only rolls out from under the covers because he doesn’t want to puke on his bed. He grabs Harry’s wrist and drags him into the toilet before settling himself at the bowl. He’s going to spew at any moment.

“There were several moments in your intoxicated state that you...erm...well, came onto me,” Harry starts.

Louis dry heaves.

“I didn’t feel comfortable with it and I’m not going to be gentle about this. Stop or else we’ll have to break up,” he finishes before bending over and rubbing circles on Louis’s back.

Louis remembers too much. He is not impressed with himself in the least bit. “Sorry,” he chokes out honestly. “I don’t really want that,” lies, “but you sort of, erm, implied that I wasn’t good at head. It hurt my feelings.”

Harry coos. “Aw, Lou. From what I’ve gathered research on, you’re not good at all.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, but that’s okay. People have different advantages. You’re good other places,” he states with a final pat on the back and he’s off on his merry way.

Wait.

“I can fucking give head you little shit,” Louis tries to yell, but vomits instead.

**  
**Eh, it’s not worth the fight.


End file.
